


Dry Heat

by omg_wtf_yeah



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-07
Updated: 2010-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omg_wtf_yeah/pseuds/omg_wtf_yeah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hot, John's obvious, and Rodney notices. Preslash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dry Heat

The dry heat of the planet's atmosphere is an oppressive weight on their chests and shoulders. Rodney surveys the dogged motions of street vendors packing their wares away and wheeling carts off the baked clay tile of the market square as he peels his vest from his back. His thin gray T-shirt is dark with sweat at the collar and between his shoulder blades, sticking to his skin. He glances at Ronon, whose sharp eyed, impatient look seems to confirm that he's not the only one burning up here. The shade of the awning off the village square offers little relief from the heat. He flicks his pale eyes upward and tugs at his moist shirt, flipping it to generate a breeze.

Sheppard leans against a post nearby, his long, slim body loose, arms crossed lazily over his black T-shirt. Behind the dark frames of his aviator sunglasses his hazel eyes are following the fluttering of Rodney's T-shirt, the brief flash of pale skin. His features are trained in studied nonchalance. Just another hot day on a hot planet.

Rodney's pulse throbs in an uneven cadence, his hand stuttering mid-motion. He turns his gaze to the pale pink nebulous formations in the sky, the flash and rumble of heat lightning somewhere not too far away. Sweat prickles on his shiny brow and the back of his neck. He's aware of Teyla inside the building, seeking an audience with the village head, of Ronon growling irritably and unintelligibly in the shade, of Sheppard's well practiced stolen glance. Confirmed. Rodney pretends not to notice, his mind wandering unforeseen paths.

His fingers twitch on his shirt and he plucks at the fabric. In his periphery, Sheppard's prismatic eyes follow the movement of his hand behind his sunglasses, pretending to watch the vendors in the square. Rodney flicks the fabric of his shirt away from his body. Theoretically, he should feel cooler but heat suffuses his throat and cheeks instead.

He swallows hard and thinks about Sheppard's eyes trailing the drop of sweat sliding down the length of his throat into his collar. He tries to cultivate a casual and masculine appearance but it's a bit difficult; after all, it's hot as hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [McSheplets](http://community.livejournal.com/mcsheplets/).


End file.
